


Talk (But Don't Say Nothin')

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Background WayHaught, Big Dumb Babies I Swear to God, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Pining, Some fluff if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I kissed Dolls,” she blurts.</p>
<p>She feels her sister stiffen.  “Are we celebrating?” she asks gingerly.</p>
<p>Groaning, she pulls away and stands, making her way to the kitchen to find more liquor.  “Not so much,” she answers eventually.  All they’ve got left is a bottle of shitty vodka.  She cracks it open and takes a long gulp.  The feeling of his lips on hers won’t wash away.  “Ugh, I hate everything I choose to do,” she whines, bending almost in half to drop her head onto the counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk (But Don't Say Nothin')

The moment the Revenant is dealt with, Dolls watches as Wynonna’s shoulders drop, Peacemaker loose in her grip.  Something in him aches to reach out, touch her, and he shoves that away.  He watches, instead, as the tense line of her back straightens.

Her voice is hoarse, shuttered, when she says, “I should…  I should find Wave.”

She turns, and her eyes are hard but maybe angry, maybe sad.  It’s not the wrath he expects, and there’s a chill of worry in his gut.  Worry that she’s gonna do something stupid.  As she passes, he snags her elbow, more gently than maybe he should.

“Earp,” he warns, voice pitched low.

Now, she looks like she’s seeing him for the first time, eyes growing wide, and he doesn’t have time to consider what she might be thinking when she launches into him.  He’d like to be able to say he immediately pushed her away, that he knew she was acting out of anger and grief, but the truth his he pulls her closer, flush chest-to-chest, groans into the biting, bruising kiss.  It’s a fierce, passionate thing, and her hands are hot when they snake under his sweater.  His head practically thrums with one thought:  _want, want, want_.

Her soft, needy moan is what brings him back to the present.

“Wait,” he gasps, pulling away.

She chases his lips, and he succumbs until his back hits the wall.

“Wait,” he repeats, pushing her away.  “Wynonna.”

Hurt and confusion are clear across her face before it closes and she jerks back.  “You’re—yeah, I gotta go,” she mumbles in a rush, leaving with her head down.

He follows her through the station but stops short when Haught and Waverly emerge from Nedley’s office, both disheveled and bright-eyed.  From a distance, he watches Wynonna pause, can see her smirk as she steps up to the desk.  He doesn’t hear what she says, but Waverly’s expressive face goes anxious.

\--

Roiling with rage and feeling a little like she’s been run over, Wynonna takes a deep swig of cheap whiskey before passing it back to Waverly, whose tears have dried but whose breath is still stuttering.  She cannot believe, after all this, they took _this_ from them.

“Please—please just don’t go all—just think before you do something rash,” Wave implores, grabbing her wrist.

“We’re gonna get them back for this,” she promises, scooting closer to wrap her arm around her sister’s shoulders and hug her as close as she can without dislodging the bottle.

They sit like that for a long time, Wave’s head tucked under her chin and passing the whiskey back and forth until they’ve drained it.  The anger over Shorty’s and what she’d done before wells up until she feels like she’s gonna explode.  _In the end, everyone chooses the lawman_ , she thinks dully.

“I kissed Dolls,” she blurts.

She feels her sister stiffen.  “Are we celebrating?” she asks gingerly.

Groaning, she pulls away and stands, making her way to the kitchen to find more liquor.  “Not so much,” she answers eventually.  All they’ve got left is a bottle of shitty vodka.  She cracks it open and takes a long gulp.  The feeling of his lips on hers won’t wash away.  “Ugh, I hate everything I choose to do,” she whines, bending almost in half to drop her head onto the counter.

A hand rubs her back between her shoulder blades and she feels Waverly rest her chin on her shoulder.

“I kissed Nicole,” she whispers, voice incredulous.

Wynonna picks her head up.  “Busy day for the Earp sisters,” she comments, turning to lean back against the counter.  “Way to go,” she says more genuinely, raising up her hand for a quick high-five.

Waverly ducks her head, smiling.  “Yeah.”  She lets out a long sight and mumbles, “I’m gonna have to get a new job.”

“Guess so,” Wynonna answers, apologetic.

\--

After hours tensely reading through the stack of records handed over by Nedley, Dolls tosses his glasses on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose.  Across from him, Wynonna slumps with a grumble and massages her temples, still staring at the same page she’s been on for at least thirty minutes.  After a few more minutes of watching her, he leans forward and drags the report away from her and she crosses her arms to drop her head on them.

“We need a break,” he states, leaning as far back as his chair allows and scrubbing his face.

“Oh, thank god,” she moans, shaking her bowed head.

He watches her as she stands to pace, feet landing hard on the linoleum.  He can still feel the ghost of her mouth on his—he drags his fingers hard across his kiss-bruised lips.  She rubs her arms and stops stomping.

“I’m gonna get coffee,” she says abruptly.

“Wynonna,” he calls before she reaches the door.  She stops, looking expectant.  “About last night—“

“We don’t need to talk about it,” she interrupts.  “I actually wish you’d never bring it up again.”

Nodding, he lets the silence rest.  “Grab me a Danish?”

Slowly, Wynonna seems to think about it before offering a very small half-smile before leaving him there to consider what all this means.  He knows he needs to distance himself, he’s been trying.  He wonders if it’s not too late for that.

\--

Days pass in a sort of nervous quiet.  They don’t make any moves.  Wynonna avoids standing too close, avoids the very brush of his fingers, still stinging from rejection and embarrassment.  It’s more uncomfortable than it’s ever _been_ with Dolls, and there’s pain there too, like a loss.  Nights pass with her asking, over and over, why she can’t keep her mouth from getting herself into trouble.  But she can still feel his hands when he pulled her closer.

She’s right smack-dab in the middle of beating herself up for about the hundredth time since _that night_ when she hears Waverly get home.  Feeling needy, she rolls out of bed and shuffles out of her room.

Except Wave isn’t alone.

And she’s in her rattiest, comfiest pajamas.  Nice.

At least Dolls has the good grace to look embarrassed.  And a little singed.

“What’s goin’ on?” she asks slowly.

“Fire at my apartment,” he explains shortly.

“I said he could stay here,” Wave adds guiltily.

“Wait,” Wynonna holds out a hand.  “You have an apartment?”

He stares at her blankly.  “You thought I slept in the station,” he says.

She does her best to smile innocently.  Turning her attention to her sister, she crooks a finger, leads her back into her bedroom, and rounds on her once the door’s closed.  “You gotta stop bringing home strays,” she whispers a little too fiercely.

“It was probably Revenants!” her little sister responds just as fervently.  “He wasn’t _safe_.”

“Where’s he gonna sleep?  He’s way too big for the couch.”

Waverly opens her mouth to respond, then clamps it shut.

“Ah hah!” Wynonna crows.

“Do you want me to send him out to the barn with Doc?  They’ll kill each other within an hour!” she replies.  She can feel her mentally imploring her to do something completely too reasonable.  “Wynonna,” she pleads.

Letting the silence fall where it may, Wynonna grinds her teeth.  “He can stay.  Of course he can stay, but I’m sleeping in your room tonight and he can have my bed,” she explains, voice coming out unexpectedly hard.  “We’ll figure out something else tomorrow, okay?”

“Careful, Wyn,” Waverly grins.  “People might start thinking you’re a nice person.”

She scowls for good measure.

\--

As soon as the plan is laid out for him by Waverly, Dolls looks at Wynonna, pressing, “Are you sure?”

She looks at him a little strangely before nodding, “Yeah, of course—why wouldn’t I be?”

He doesn’t answer.

He can feel Waverly’s eyes dart between them before she pipes, “Oh-kay!  So, I’m gonna go make a quick call!” Exit stage left, she disappears out the front door.

Wynonna’s got that look on her face again and he finds he can’t return her gaze for very long.  But soon her eyes drop and she gestures towards the back of the house, saying, “Help me out.”  He follows her at a distance, lets her pile linens into his arms.  In her bedroom, she looks around and frowns.  “Sorry about the mess—don’t get too much company.”

He snorts.

Her face softens a little, some of the awkwardness dissipates.  Without a word, she starts stripping the bed, tossing the blanket, sheets, and pillow cases into a corner.  She comes close to flip through the stack in his hands and he finds he’s holding his breath.

“Wynonna…” he starts, not quite sure where he thinks he’s going with this.

“Doesn’t the military teach you how to make the bed like… amazing?” she asks, a little mocking.  “I’m kind of terrible—just don’t tell me if you decide to make it again.”

“Okay,” he answers, “I promise.”

She tosses a grin over her shoulder.

After the bed is dressed, she leans back against it for half a beat, eyeing him up and down before murmuring, “I’ll get you a towel, you probably want a shower after…”

“Wynonna,” he whispers as she’s about to pass.  She looks up at him and there’s a flash before she schools her expression into something blank.  “Thank you.”

Her lips twist wryly and she doesn’t look at him when she squeezes his shoulder.

Leaning back against the doorjamb, he takes several bracing breaths.  All he can smell is smoke and his eyes are still burning, but now his shoulder is on fire where she touched him.  _Get it together_ , he thinks angrily.  A moment later, there’s a nudge at his elbow and a towel is pressed into his hands, then an unopened toothbrush. 

“The, uh, hot water sticks so just twist hard.  You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen but it’s mostly instant noodles—we don’t really cook,” she explains quickly.  “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

\--

Wynonna wakes up with a mouthful of hair.  Doing her best not to wake her sister, she climbs out of bed and looks at her phone.  She glares at the glowing 6:37 AM until it switches to 6:38 AM, willing it to somehow be later because if it’s _really_ that early that means she go approximately three hours of sleep.  When the clock doesn’t obey her whims, she heaves a sigh and forces herself to her feet, thinking she might as well make coffee.  She moves as quietly as she can to the kitchen but creaky doors and squeaking floorboards do their damnest to give her away.  In the kitchen, she winces when she flips the light switch, stumbling a little to get to the coffee pot while also trying to keep her eyes covered.

The coffee pot is eventually put-puttering comfortingly and she hovers over it, eyes unfocused and itchy.

When it’s mostly full, she yanks it off the burner plate and fills a mug, the over-strong scent promising.  She throws too much sugar into it, enough non-dairy creamer to make it thick and kinda chalky.  It’s too hot to take a big gulp but she perseveres.

“Morning,” comes a sleepy greeting behind her, and the raspy voice makes her hot all over and _wow_ that’s not appropriate.

“Jesus,” she huffs, setting her coffee down and trying real hard not to look directly into Dolls’ pecs.  “Are you allergic to shirts?  Asking for a friend.”

He licks his lips and smiles, looking down.  _Jesus_ , she thinks.  “Can I get in on that?”

“Yes,” she says before she realizes he’s talking about the coffee.  “Uh.  Go sit, I got it.  This time.”

When she brings his mug to him in the living room (black with sugar), she can’t bring herself to look directly at him.  He looks all soft around the edges, less stoic somehow, relaxed.  It’s too much and sleep still clings to his voice when he thanks her.  And she _wants_.  Swallowing hard, she perches herself in a chair, drawing her feet up.  They don’t talk, and that’s probably best because she’s sort of dying over here.  It’s the longest few minutes of her life, she thinks, when he finally stands.

“Want a refill?” he offers.

“Um, yeah, lots—“

“Cream and sugar,” he smiles.

She chews on her lower lip.  “Yeah.”

When he hands her a full cup, it’s perfect and she hates him for it.

“I need a shower,” she says quickly, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

\--

Honestly, he doesn’t know if he can take much more of this.

The early mornings and quiet coffee, the intimate way he knows her shampoo because he can smell it in her pillow, the way she wrings her hair with a towel while she’s walking out of the bathroom, and the way he can hear her singing in the shower, low and deeper than he expected.  He can never make out the words.  In the past few days, the awkwardness has faded completely and it feels almost normal with her again, and it’s killing him.

Waverly knows.  She never says anything, but he can see in the way she looks at him that she does, can tell that gears are turning in her head.

Until one day, when she breaks her silence.  They’re grocery shopping, and he should feel weird about the domesticity of the act, but he couldn’t take anymore greasy takeout.

“I can’t believe you eat those,” he teases when she holds up a package of frozen burritos.

“Listen, Deputy Marshal Dolls,” she says primly, “Sometimes a girl just wants something disgustingly fattening, okay?  No judgement.”

Holding back a laugh, he just shrugs and sneaks healthier snacks into the basket as they walk the aisles.

“Who do you think is gonna cook all this?” Waverly demands, snickering.  “I’m not, I spend enough time around food as is.”

“I’ll cook, okay?” he sighs, feigning exasperation.

“You’re too good to us,” she says sweetly.  She drops mint cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream into the cart.  “Dolls, can I ask you a question?”

There’s a quiet expectation in her tone that makes him hesitate before saying, “Sure.”

“What’s… going on between you and my sister?” she asks, suddenly serious.  When he doesn’t answer, she continues quickly, “I mean—it’s kind of obvious, right?  You guys are so.  I dunno.  There’s something going on there, and, like, I could come up with a thousand and one hypotheses as to _why_ you wouldn’t act on it but they’re kind of all bullshit because we’re living in the middle of.  I don’t want to call it a warzone, but you get what I mean.  Right?”

He stares straight ahead, chewing on what she’s said.

“See, that face,” she points, “That’s the face you make when you’re caught.”  She pats him quickly on the shoulder.  “Just think about it.”

Keeping his face still, he answers, “I’ll try.”

\--

“I need my room tonight,” Waverly says early that morning.

Wynonna doesn’t process that at first.  Dolls is outside doing suicides—she’s disgusted that she knows what those are called, honestly.  Then, “Wait, what?”

Her sister colors.  “Nicole and I have—we have a date tonight, and we’re coming back here tonight,” she explains.  “Wyn, I’m allergic to her cat!  Don’t make me—with her—in a Benadryl haze!” she sputters embarrassedly.

“Oh!” she exclaims.  “Um, okay, heard—I would have a joke here but I’m trying not to think of you and Officer Haughtpants gettin’ it on, so.  Should Dolls and I catch a long movie?”  She wiggles her eyebrows.

“No, I—I mean unless you two want to, I mean, I—“

Absolutely overcome with a rush of fondness, Wynonna laughs and wraps her arms around her sister.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make fun of you,” she says quietly, smoothing her hair.  “Do you, okay?  We’ll figure something out.”

That night comes too quickly—no one’s at the homestead when she and Dolls get there after work.  Dolls cooks dinner and, feeling useless and anxious in the living room, she sidles into the kitchen and hops up onto the counter.  “Just you and me tonight,” she says, legs swinging gently.

“Really?” he asks, eyebrow shooting up.

“Wave’s on a _date_ ,” she stage-whispers.

“Uh-oh,” he hums, stirring a pot of… something.  “Taste this?” he asks, holding out the spoon.

Leaning forward, she takes a quick sip and lets out a moan that would make a porn star blush.  “Okay, that’s amazing, and we’re getting married,” she whimpers.  He gives her a funny look and she feels a flush heat her cheeks.  “It’s that or I’m chaining you up in the basement.”

“Wow.”

“She kicked me out tonight, so I’ll sleep on the couch,” she says, dipping a finger into the alfredo sauce for another taste because _god_ it’s better than sex.  He stares at her.  “Just try not to wake me up with your freakishly early waking.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he frowns.  “I can, it’s your house.”

“Yeah,” she replies, kicking him gently in the thigh.  “It’s _my_ house—I make the rules, and you’re not sleeping on the couch.”  Her voice has more force in it than she really means to but she stares him down all the same.

Dolls turns away from the stove fully.  “Compromise—bed’s big enough, we share.”

Suddenly hot all over, Wynonna looks away.  But his voice is full of challenge and even though her brain is screaming to throw out all brakes and not to rise under any circumstances, she realizes she’s agreeing before she even made the decision.

\--

They’ve been in bed for about an hour when the front door opens and shuts.  He knows Wynonna’s still awake because, even in the dark, he can see the tension in her shoulders.  There’s a good foot between them and he still feels like he can feel her body heat as if she were right up against him.

When the moaning starts, Wynonna flips over to face him, closer now, and whispers, “We should go outside.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quickly.  They almost run outside, pausing only to grab their coats and jackets, donning them only once they’re on the porch.  Once they’re standing there, shivering in too-thin pajamas, they both burst into uncontrollable laughter.   She doubles over, and he’s over-conscious of the hand she has on his arm to keep herself from falling over as she shrieks.

“We should build a fire,” she gasps, holding her stomach but not letting him go.  She bites her lip, hard, to hold back her giggles.  His side aches, but he nods, and when she lets go of him he piles wood into his arms and follows her to the pit.

Once it’s going, they hover over it, trying to soak up its meager warmth.  They’re close enough that their shoulders are pressed together.  There’s something that wants to be said but he can’t for the life of him find the words.  Soon enough, the fire’s blazing and they pull up lawn chairs as close as they dare, close enough that his knees start to burn.  He doesn’t realize Wynonna’s staring at him immediately, but when he looks up she’s got her head resting on the back of the chair, eyes lit strangely by the fire.

Just when she’s about to ask what she’s thinking, she lets her eyes slide shut and sighs, “I’m sorry this is so weird.”

He finds himself shuffling his shoulders, settling more deeply into the deceptively comfortable chair.

\--

“Wynonna,” a voice whispers.  “Wynonna, wake up.”

She shivers awake, fingers and toes numb, and Dolls is smiling right in her face and her stomach does a slow, sickening backflip.  “Wha?” she grunts.

“We fell asleep,” he chuckles, breath misting and voice rich.

The sky is still dark but just on the horizon there’s a hint of purple.  She lets him help her out of the chair, all joints stiff and cramped.  His hands rub her arms quickly but it’s not doing much.  “Let’s go inside,” he urges.  All she can do is nod quickly, letting him lead her with an arm around her waist back inside where it is _considerably_ warmer.  They’re both wracked with chills by the time they shed their coats.

“So dumb,” she hisses through clenched teeth.  “So, so, so, so dumb.”

“I know,” he agrees.

“C-c-c-coffee,” she mumbles, slowly making her way to the kitchen, teeth chattering so loudly she can’t hear herself think.

The coffee’s brewing when Nicole pads in, looking _very_ delighted with herself and wearing pajamas that are clearly not hers.  She takes one look at the two of them and whisper-shouts, “Oh my God, you two are _blue!”_   She immediately takes both of Wynonna’s prickling hands between hers and looks between them.  “What happened?”

“We fell asleep.  Outside,” Wynonna murmurs, looking at Dolls sheepishly.

“Oh, no,” she gasps.  “Was it because…”

“If I say it wasn’t, do you promise to pretend to believe me?” she asks quickly.

“You two need to go to bed!” Nicole commands, giving Wynonna a shove.  “Now, both of you!”

Like scolded children, they start to protest but with one hard look from the cop they slouch, almost in unison, and shuffle to Wynonna’s bedroom.  Clumsy, she clambers into bed and pulls the comforter up to her chin.  Dolls seems to slide in with less wobbling, but he jostles her when he tugs on the blanket.  When she doesn’t give an inch, he grunts irritably and scoots toward her until they’re—

“Are we spooning?” she demands.

He shushes her.

She falls asleep surrounded in the smell of his body wash.

\--

It’s bright when he wakes up, warm and with something full under his ribs.  There’s a thin arm around his waist, a hand bunched in the back of his shirt. Soft, steady breath against the back of his neck.  After a while, he realizes he’s clenched every muscle and wills himself to relax, but as he does Wynonna moans in her sleep and sends a bolt of heat straight through him.

He should get up, but she’s nuzzling her nose into his neck.

He _feels_ the moment she wakes up because she stops and jerks away.

She shoves herself back.  When he rolls over, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over and looking very small.  Unable to stop himself, he reaches out, but as soon as he touches her shoulder she flinches, huffing out a quick, “Sorry,” before peeking back at him.  “Morning.”

“Morning,” he responds.  “Afternoon?” he corrects.

That at least makes her smirk.  “Next time, let’s remember to actually come back inside,” she says.

Yawning, she stretches and rocks from side to side, back popping and she lets out a delicious sigh.

“C’mon,” he snaps, smiling.  “I’ll make pancakes.”

“And bacon?” she coaxes.

“And bacon,” he chuckles.

“’Kay,” she yawns again.  I’m gonna take a shower.”

She nudges past him, bumping shoulders on her way out the door.

The house is eerily quiet.  In the kitchen, there’s a note:  “Went to work!  Be good you 2!”  Rolling his eyes, he gets started on breakfast, still hot all over and thrown off-kilter by that feeling he woke up with—contentedness, he realizes now.  The shower starts, jarring in the silence.  _You don’t have time for that_ , he reminds himself firmly.  With some effort, he shoves the thoughts away before they can start to articulate, wants and needs and _feelings_ , and focuses on the task at hand.  Pancakes are important, anyway.  He’s got a good stack going when the water shuts off and he starts the bacon.  Wynonna—the sicko—likes it a little chewy.

When did he learn all this about her?

He should be troubled, but she comes up behind him, brushing one shoulder as she leans over the other to snag a piece of bacon.

“You’re revolting,” he says for good measure.

\--

It’s not a problem.

She can handle this.

It’s _totally_ not a problem.

She’s _fine_ with this arrangement, sleeping in Wave’s room unless Nicole is there, waking up in Dolls’ arms.  They’re in a good place.  There’s minimal awkwardness.  She’s good.  There’s a weird sort of sadness that lingers around the edges, the faintest ghost of a memory, the knowledge that it’s _not like that_ , but it’s also weirdly freeing.  It’s not—it never was—and she gives herself permission to flirt, touch, nudge like she did before.  So, really, it’s _fine_ and she’s _good_.

Until she isn’t.

She’s on her way out of the station when Nicole hops down from behind the front desk, calling, “Hey!  You getting carryout?”

“Um, yeah, do you want something?” Wynonna asked, confused.

“Let me drive you,” she offers.  Suspicious, Wynonna follows her out to her cruiser.  There’s a long moment before she starts the car, Nicole seems to be mulling something over.  “So, you and Dolls…”

Feigning surprise, Wynonna repeats, “Dolls?”

With a quick look, Nicole silences that.  “Listen, I just wanna know what’s going on—you two are… being weird.  You _look_ like a couple, you _sound_ like a couple, and I mean, ‘looks like a duck, quacks like a duck,’” she explains firmly.  “You’re closer than partners, so… what’s going on there?”

“Nothing,” she answers, voice surprisingly sad.  She frowns.  “I kissed him, few weeks back, it was—it didn’t end well.  So, nothing’s going on.”

“Well,” Nicole presses.  “Have you _talked_ about it?”

“I’m actually very _for_ ignoring a problem until it goes away or gives me cancer,” Wynonna quips.

“Wy _no_ nna,” she groans.  “We’re having a moment here.  Life would be… _so_ much easier if people just talked to each other.  You’re making yourselves miserable—and I _know_ you’re making yourselves miserable because I have _eyes_.  I know you’re scared, but wouldn’t it be so much _less_ scary if you at least knew one way or another?”  She pauses to take a breath.  “You know, you’re allowed to be happy, right?  Pining has never made anyone happy, ever.  Believe me.”

And she doesn’t have a damn thing to say to that.

“You’re my favorite fortune cookie.”

Okay, she has _one_ damn thing to say to that.

“We’re gonna be at my place tonight,” Nicole breezes past her comment, unimpressed.  “Just, give it a shot.”

\--

Something weird is happening.  Dolls can feel it build.  Ever since she got back from picking up lunch, Wynonna’s been… _off_.  Quiet, distant, almost thoughtful.  Any time he asks if something’s wrong, she shrugs, glaring at a spot on the wall.  At the end of the day, he drives them back to the homestead in complete silence, side-eyeing her every half-mile or so, but she wrings her hands and stares out the window and does her level best to ignore him.

Once they’re inside, she rounds on him.  “We need to talk,” she says, uncharacteristically serious.

He waits.

“I’m not—I’m not good at feelings,” she stammers.  A deep breath, steeling herself.  Anxiety pools under his throat.  “But neither are you, honestly, so I think between the two of us, maybe we can make sense of this shit.  Anyway—I feel really good when I’m with you.”  She pauses to search his face.  “I _care_ about you,” she says, voice shaking.  “I do, and that’s— _terrifying_ , actually.  And the thing is, I _know_ you care about me, too.  Just… and, like, I know you’re—you’re leaving, once this is all over, I _get_ that.  I’m not asking for you to stay, I mean except when you’re cooking, _then_ I ask you to stay—but, right now, I’m just—you _do_ care, right?” she asks, eyes wide and frightened and _fucking earnest_.

His heart is hammering as he steps closer, cups her cheek, rubs his thumb over her cheekbone.  He nods—his throat is dry, he couldn’t talk if he even had the words.

She covers his hand with her own and looks down.  “Dolls,” she whispers, and this close he can count her eyelashes.  “Can you—will you just _say_ it?”

He has to clear his throat twice before he can say, “Wynonna, I… care about you.”

There’s more he should say, but he _can’t_.

So, he does what he can.  He dips his head to brush his lips against hers, and something in his chest cracks open wide when she gasps quietly.  She squeezes his hand before pushing forward, teeth grazing his lip.

But then she pulls back.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she breathes in a rush, “But don’t you _dare_ do this if—“

Dolls takes a quick breath.  “I _want_ this—I want this if you want this—I’ve wanted it for a long time,” he murmurs.

“Okay… okay,” she whispers, kissing him, hard.

\--

It’s hard to say _what_ she feels that morning.  Dazed, sure.  Pleasantly tired, definitely.  A little sore.  But above all, there’s a tentative thing—it’s happiness, maybe, or something trying to be happy.  Thoughtfully, she finds herself drawing patterns with her nails in Dolls’ skin just under his ribs.  She wants to stay in this bed forever.  Once she gets up, any number of things could happen, but right here there’s safety in at least not knowing.

“Go back to sleep,” Dolls commands sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Can’t,” she answers simply, pressing quick pecks to his throat.  He gives a soft, content rumble and she grins into his skin.  “Get up, I need breakfast.”  When he doesn’t budge, she slides up a little to kiss his lips, short and teasing.

Finally, he smiles, rolls his eyes, and flips her on her back.  He hovers over her, just out of reach, and mumbles, “Breakfast?”

Wriggling under him, she smiles a little wickedly.  “Breakfast _first_.  We’re _so_ not going in today.”  She punctuates that with a quick, fake cough.

“Just terrible,” he says against her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I basically screamed at this fic the whole time I was working on this fic because I hate when people don't just talk. Just talk! C'mon! Arrrgh!
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com), please talk to me. I'm but a lonely fic farmer.


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